


get a load of this monster (he doesn't know how to communicate)

by ftmpeter



Series: i never promised you your dream boy [4]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Chest Binding, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fainting, Fluff and Humor, Food Issues, Gen, Gender Dysphoria, Internalized Transphobia, Mental Health Issues, Ned Leeds is a Good Bro, Panic Attacks, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Self-Esteem Issues, Suicidal Thoughts, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Trans Male Character, Trans Peter Parker, and ends up collapsing, basically peter pushes himself too much, near the end anyway, probably some medical inaccuracies, they aren't expanded on though, when does he not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-21
Updated: 2019-10-21
Packaged: 2020-12-24 15:17:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21101600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ftmpeter/pseuds/ftmpeter
Summary: Some days, Peter wakes up and everything just feelswrong.Today is one of those days.





	get a load of this monster (he doesn't know how to communicate)

**Author's Note:**

> binding for more than eight hours at a time is not advisable, my dudes. especially if it doesn't fit you right, and especially while doing a lot of physical activity. take breaks. don't be like peter. you won't end up with a tony stark. trust me, i've tried.
> 
> i've said this before, but just in case: peter very much thinks in a black-and-white kind of way in this story. seeing things being masculine and feminine, thinking you can "sound" or "look" like a girl, worrying about passing, stuff like that. he has some serious internalized transphobia going on, so if you’re bothered by that, please watch out. i could write a whole essay about how unhealthy that is and how much gender roles suck, but the truth is that it is really, really hard to stop thinking like that, even if you are trans. it influences everything you do. this is a personal fic for me, a representation of my own experiences as a trans guy, and i'm not going to downplay anything.
> 
> oh, and i took some creative liberty with not making peter go to the hospital. i’m tired ok
> 
> also, if you want, listen to home by cavetown while reading this. it's a certified trans mood

Some days, Peter wakes up and everything just feels _ wrong. _

It’s not anything in particular. It’s not something he can point at and say, "Yup, that’s why I want to kill myself." No, it’s more like he wakes up, and his entire body immediately screams at him in protest. It’s more like everything was shifted an inch to the left while he slept, just to throw him off balance. It’s more like an invisible hand is gripping his throat, pinning him against the wall and not caring when his lips turn blue. Like someone set his chest on fire, dropped hot coals down his shirt. And it’s dumb, dumb and stupid and idiotic but it’s _real. _It’s real and it _hurts._

Yeah. Not fun.

Some days, Peter wakes up and everything just feels _ wrong. _

Today is one of those days.

The first thing he realizes upon opening his eyes is that he accidentally fell asleep in his binder. That’s not the problem - in fact, to him, that’s the opposite of a problem. It means he doesn’t have to force it over his head for a little while longer, reminding him that he’s not who he wants to be. (Sure, his extensive internet research has told him, time and time again, that binding for too long can be Bad, but they don’t have his healing, do they? It’s totally fine. He has it under control.) It means he has one less item on his getting ready for school checklist, which - wait, it’s already 7:35, the bus runs at 7:40, _ shit - _

That’s the second thing Peter realizes. The third thing is that he’s not hungry. Like, at all. 

He’s about to grab a Pop-Tart from the kitchen shelf - May is already at work, so there’s no disapproving looks or insistence on cereal instead - to scarf down on his mad scramble to the bus when he glances at it, and an unexpected surge of nausea hits him. 

_ If you eat, you’ll gain weight. If you gain weight, you’ll have curves. If you have curves, you’ll look like a - _

Peter squeezes his eyes shut, trying to will away those thoughts. He can’t fall down that rabbit hole right now. 

Once he’s completely certain he won’t throw up, he leaves the snack behind, pretending he doesn't notice the tightness in his chest. Physically and metaphorically.

Peter sprints to catch the bus, but his superpowers clearly do not involve being fast enough to beat time. It pulls away just as he turns the corner.  
  
"Wait!" He yells, cringing when he hears his voice crack. _You sound like a girl._"Wait!"

But the universe hates him, apparently, because it doesn't stop, leaving Peter skidding against the concrete and cursing himself. This would be so much easier if he could web his way to places, but _no,_ that's a "bad idea" and "could expose his identity" according to May and Mr. Stark. So he begrudgingly starts the mile and a half walk to school, choosing to ignore how he's already broken, like, three of the binding rules. He'll be fine.

-

He is not fine.

It's lunchtime, and Peter has never had less of an appetite than he does right now. There's a weird, strange sensation in his chest, not quite hurting but slowly getting there. He nervously pulls his shirt down a little farther, scared that someone might glance at him and suddenly realize that he's not _really _a boy, that he's too short and his jawline is too soft and his pants are too snug, making it obvious that the bulge there isn't a real one, but is actually homemade, using old socks and a cheap rubber band. God, he's going to be outed as trans and then beat up and ridiculed -

"Hey, what's wrong?" Ned asks. They're in line to get their tray, and Peter feels like all of his senses are dialed up even higher than usual. He's aware of everything, from the way his hair sticks to his forehead to his hands that won't stop trembling. "You've been quiet all day."

Peter startles. "Oh! Uh, I'm fine. Just overslept, you know. Still out of it."

Ned raises his eyebrows, but thankfully doesn't say anything more. They go over to their usual table, and Peter looks down at his tray, not even sure that it can classified as food. Wasn't mystery meat supposed to just be a stereotype in movies or something? 

"Breadstick?" Ned requests, and Peter hands it over, ultimately deciding to push his tray away. A part of him knows he ought to eat, considering he didn’t eat breakfast, but he can't guarantee he won't just throw it up later anyway. He feels kind of queasy. 

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

Peter’s head snaps up, looking over at Ned, who watches him carefully. He taps his fingers against his arm. One, two, three. One, two, three.

"Yeah, dude, I’m fine."

He still doesn’t look convinced. Frankly, Peter isn’t all that convinced either.

Gym is next, and Peter drags himself to it with the same energy as someone heading to the electric chair. He refuses to change in front of everyone else, so he waits until they’re all gone before doing so. They probably think he’s insecure about his body, which, well. Isn’t a lie, really.

When he heads out, everyone’s already running laps, and Peter groans. Today is one of the dreaded "running days," where all they do is race each other, run from one side of the gym to the other, and contemplate death by blunt force trauma. Normal things.

He’s as good as he can be for most of the class. He’s slower than usual, granted, and has to stop a few times, but he’s good.

Until he’s not.

The pain is sharper now, piercing the area right under the left side of his collarbone. He stops again to catch his breath, panting heavily as he presses a hand to his chest.

"Dude, are you okay?" Ned stops besides him, looking concerned. "You - "

"I’m fine," Peter grits out. And he is. He _ is. _ He just needs to breathe. "Just.. just let me get a drink."

They head over to the water fountain, doing their best to avoid eye contact with Coach Murphy, who gives them a disapproving look from his spot at the other side of the room. Peter gulps down the water, relishing the way it makes him feel full, if only for a minute.

"Are you okay?" Ned repeats. "I’ve never seen you so - wait, are you - how long have you been binding?"

"Shut _ up!"_ Peter hisses, glancing over his shoulder to make sure no one else heard that. He shoves down the wave of pain that emerges when he moves too fast. "And not that long! It’s just - it’s just a little tight, is all. I’m fine, seriously."

"You know it’s bad to - "

"I know, Ned! _ You _ don’t. So drop it." Peter snaps, then immediately feels regretful. Ned is only trying to be a good friend, and here he is, being a dick for no reason. "I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that."

"It’s okay," He says in response, though it’s obvious he’s a little hurt. Peter subconsciously digs one of his fingernails into his wrist, hard enough to almost draw blood. _ You’re a bad person._

The bell rings, suddenly, harsh and loud in his ears, but Peter’s glad for the distraction. He goes over and pulls his backpack up from the bleachers, ignoring the dizziness forming on the edges of his vision. He only has two more classes, surely he can get through that -

"Hey, losers!" Flash smirks, passing by them on his way to the locker room. "You know gym actually involves running, right? Or do you just want to look like a girl forever, Penis?"

Peter instinctively flinches at the nickname, before the rest of the question catches up to him and it feels like someone punched him directly in the stomach. He tries to remind himself that Flash doesn’t know, that there is _ no possible way _ for him to know, but the emotional side of him doesn’t seem to be in the mood for logic because he still has to stagger back, clutching his bag tightly in his fist, getting a little more dizzy. He can’t even hear Flash’s scoff as the locker room door swings shut, can’t even hear Ned’s attempt at reassuring him that he doesn’t look like a girl, can’t even hear his own thoughts over the roar of blood in his ears.

"I’m - I’m going to go change in the bathroom," Peter chokes out, barely registering Ned saying his name as he speed-walks through the locker room as fast as he can. There’s a family bathroom close to where he is, so he pushes the door to it open and locks it behind him. He slides down the wood to the cold tile floor, a pathetic sob tearing itself from his throat.

He’s going to be late for History.

-

Looking back, Peter has no idea how he got through those last two classes. After his mini panic attack in the bathroom, he had lifted up his binder for a grand total of ten seconds in hope for some relief, before dysphoria roared its ugly head and he had to squeeze it back on. Now the ache is spreading throughout his chest, making him painfully aware of the parts he was trying to forget in the first place.

When the final bell rings, signalling the end of the day, he nearly cries in relief. He pushes his way out to the front exit and is about to find Ned again when he spots a familiar black car pulled up to the curb.

_God fucking -_

It's Thursday. Which means Mr. Stark's expecting him. Which means Happy is here to pick him up. Which means a few more hours of clenching his teeth and acting like he's not dying inside.

Peter considers just sneaking away, but Happy has to have seen him by now, and there's literally no way in hell he would willingly ditch on hanging with Mr. Stark. That has to be considered, like, a criminal offense somewhere. He hesitantly walks up to the car, pulling the handle and sliding inside with a soft _oof._

Usually, Peter never stops talking about anything and everything on these rides, annoying Happy to no end until he eventually gives up and raises the divider separating them. But today, all he can do is rest his head against the cool window, feeling the low rumble of the car bounce him around and focusing all of his attention on his binder.

Mr. Stark - Tony, he keeps insisting he call him, would understand if Peter told him what was wrong, right? He knows he’s trans, which is a feat in of itself, so he'd at least try to be understanding, right? Maybe he would let him borrow one of his super baggy shirts, so they could still work and he wouldn't want to die as much.

_Don't lie to yourself. He probably thinks you're a freak._

That's his anxiety talking, he knows it is, because Tony's one of the most understanding people he's ever met and Peter's pretty sure he could actually kill a man and he would still help him hide the body, but anxiety sounds sort of convincing right about now.

_Why wouldn't he think that, anyway? You are a freak, aren't you? You're delusional. A delusional little girl playing make-believe -_

Peter swallows hard. He can see Happy giving him an odd glance from the rear view mirror, one bordering on concern, but he looks away from it before the guilt bubbles up. _Stop being a problem, Parker._

They get to the tower in about fifteen minutes, and Peter mumbles a thank you as he practically falls out of the car.

He walks through the entrance, nodding halfheartedly at the receptionist, an older lady that goes by the name of Ms. K, as he shows her his ID that verifies his status as an "official Stark intern." She waves him through to the elevator reserved solely for Important Authorized People, and Peter sends up thanks to whoever decided that he doesn't have to go up the stairs on his way to the lab. He might genuinely collapse at this point.

Speaking of which, he almost does when FRIDAY speaks.

"Hello, Peter," she says as warmly as an AI can. "Boss is currently finishing up a meeting, but he will be with you in about five minutes. I've alerted him to your arrival."

Why does everything hurt so bad? He's used his binder a lot before, and it's never been _this_ extreme. He thinks he might have responded to FRIDAY, but he's not entirely sure. Most of his brain is zeroed in on the fact that he will never really be free of his chest, never truly get away from the past. It's always there, always mocking, reminding him of who he is and who he isn't.

"Your ribs appear to be bruised, Peter, and you show signs of hunger. Do you want me to alert him again?"

_Bruised ribs? That can't be true, can it? _Peter wants to shake his head violently, but he has the feeling that if he does, the spinning will just get worse. He grips the handrail in the elevator tightly, closing his eyes so he doesn't stumble. "N-No! It's okay - "

Peter's vision tunnels. He's dimly aware of the elevator opening with a ding, and he takes a clumsy step forward. The pain is somehow getting even worse, making him wheeze, but Peter's just being dramatic, okay, he can handle this for a few more hours -

The floor meets his face before he can finish that thought.

-

When he comes to, he’s greeted by a bright light.

_How cliche can you get?_

The bright light is irritating, though, so Peter groans, sitting up. Or at least, he tries to sit up, but a hand stops him.

"Nope," a familiar voice says. "Not gonna do that, kid, sorry."

Tony comes into view beside him. "Hey."

"What - why - " He suddenly becomes aware of how bare his chest feels, and starts to panic. "Where’s - "

"Calm down, kid. You’re in your room. It’s only been about ten minutes. Eat this," Tony says, handing him a few crackers. Peter eyes it apprehensively, but takes it. "I had to - um, your binder is in your backpack."

The implication of that - the implication that he had to take his binder off of him - makes Peter flush bright, bright red. Even though he has a pretty good idea, he croaks, "What happened?"

Tony darkens a bit. "You passed out, Peter."

"Oh."

"Yeah, oh," he says. His voice is hard. "You passed out on the elevator and almost gave yourself a concussion. You _bruised your ribs _from binding, Peter."

"I - "

"No, let me finish. I know I don’t understand the position you’re in. I’m not going to act like I do, because I’m not stupid. But according to the scans, you also haven’t ate shit. We can talk about that later. Either way, that was dangerous and you know it. I didn’t take you to the hospital wing because I knew you wouldn’t like it and FRIDAY said it wasn’t necessary, but you’re lucky you didn’t break something."

Peter clenches his fist. Not in anger, but in embarrassment.

"How long were you binding?"

He avoids his gaze.

"Peter."

"More.. more than fifteen hours," he admits. "I don’t know for sure. I fell asleep with it on last night, I guess. And I had to walk to school. And run in gym."

Tony stares at him. "You had it on for that long?"

".. Yeah."

"God - for fuck’s sake, Peter," Tony rubs his forehead. When Peter flinches, he sighs, reaching forward to rest a hand on his wrist. "I’m not mad, okay? I’m just.. why didn’t you take it off?"

_Because not wearing it is worse than I can explain. "_I didn't.. have time. And.." Peter hesitates.

"And?"

"Flash said some dumb thing," he finishes. "About me looking like a girl. It made.. it was dumb."

"That’s not dumb, kid," Tony says, any previous frustration gone. "That Flash is still bothering you? I told you to tell me - "

"It’s fine, Mr. Stark!" Peter hurries to rectify. The last thing he needs is him getting involved. Something else occurs to him, then, and he stiffens.

“Please don’t let Aunt May know,” he blurts out. At the look he gets, he explains, “She worries about me binding. I don’t want her to freak.”

"That means her worries are justified, don’t you think?" Tony says. At Peter’s pleading expression, he sighs. "Okay. I won’t tell her. But you do this again, I’m marching you straight back to your apartment and leaving you to the wolves, got it?"

Peter leans back, relieved despite the threat. "Thank you."

-

The next day, while Peter fakes sick as per demand of Tony - is it faking if you’re only lying about the reason? - and spends the day alone recuperating, a knock resounds from the door. He doesn’t know who he was expecting, but it definitely wasn’t Tony, who comes in and gestures Peter to sit down on the couch. He does, and gets handed a package.

"What’s this?"

"That’s what we call a package," Tony answers helpfully.

"Thank you for your infinite wisdom," Peter says, promptly ripping it open.

He stares. And stares. And then stares a little more for good measure.

_What?_

The white fabric of the binder is cool against his hands. It looks very similar to the one he has, but instead of being stretched out, dirty, and stained, this one is perfectly clean. It's not like the crop top style he has, either. It's longer, resembling a tank top. Peter knows what it is, because he'd spent most of his time fantasizing about getting it, but he didn't have the money, and he would have rather stabbed himself than ask May. The only reason he ever had a semi-functioning one in the first place was because he miraculously won some person's giveaway online. So this? This can't be real. It just can't.

He looks back up at Tony, who seems.. nervous? No. Tony Stark would not get _nervous. _Especially around people like Peter Parker.

"I didn't know what you would have preferred, so I just got the first thing I saw. I didn't know your size either, but I _am_ the person who makes your suits, so I felt like I had a good guess," he says, looking at Peter like he's trying to gauge his reaction.

Peter wants to say something, anything, but he's, for lack of a better word, speechless.

Things to say dash across his mind, from _I can't accept this _to _I don't understand why you would do this for me of all people _to _holy shit, I think I'm about to cry. _He settles on standing up despite Tony's protests - and ow, he really did bruise his ribs, because even with his healing factor that hurt more than it reasonably should have - and half-stumbles, half-falls into his arms.

Tony catches him automatically, like it's second nature to him. Peter tries to pour all the things he can't articulate out loud into a hug as he feels tears sting his eyes. For the first time in a while, the tears aren't from sadness. They're from love.

"Thank you," he mumbles. "Thank - thank you so much."

"Of course," Tony says, sounding confused on why Peter is thanking him.

"You - you didn’t have to do this," Peter says, needing to clarify that. "It costs a lot - "

"I feel like you’re forgetting I’m a billionaire," Tony responds. "And I know I didn’t have to. But I would like to avoid finding you passed out on the ground whenever possible, thanks. My poor heart can’t take it." It’s said in a non-serious manner, but Peter can tell he’s shaken over the incident. _Congratulations, you scared Iron Man._

"You're not wearing this until we discuss proper binding safety and your complete disregard for self-preservation, though. You hear me?"

Peter laughs despite himself, pulling back from the hug. Rolling his eyes, he says back sarcastically, "Okay, _Dad."_

The way he freezes the moment those words leave his mouth would be nearly comical if it wasn't for what the words were, oh my _God,_ Peter did not just admit he sees Tony as a father figure. He did not. He’s going to go jump out the window or something.

"How dare you!" Tony fake gasps. His grip tightens nearly imperceptibly, and his eyes shine with an emotion Peter can't quite figure out. He doesn't have time to either way, because he continues, "I did not raise you to disrespect me like this. You're grounded for until college."

Peter blinks. "Did you just quote iCarly at me?"

"Don't question me, kid."

The ensuing laughter makes Peter feel better than he has in weeks.


End file.
